OBS Chapter 3337 Bloody New City (86)
Chapter 3337 Bloody New City (86)
Chapter 3337 Bloody New City (Eighty-Six)
The black SUV convoy of the IRS Special Investigations Team slowly drove into the underground parking lot of the GTO headquarters building, with the tires making a low roar as they rubbed against the ground. The headlights drew several dazzling beams of light in the dim underground space, reflecting the mottled stains and rust on the wall.
Pavel Smith was the first to open the car door, the hem of her black windbreaker rising slightly as she walked. Behind her followed a dozen fully armed agents, their footsteps in unison, like a well-trained army.
The elevator door opened, and Pavel led his men straight to the core office area of the GTO headquarters. The security guard at the door tried to stop them, but Pavel just glanced at him coldly and showed his IRS ID: "Special Investigation Team, requisitioning your office area. Cooperate and don't cause trouble for yourself."
The security guard opened his mouth, then finally stepped aside and allowed the uninvited guests to break in.
The employees in the office area stopped their work and looked up at the sudden intruders. Pavel ignored the surprised or angry looks and walked straight to the largest conference room. The moment she pushed open the door, Nightwing was standing in the middle of the conference room, with his arms folded across his chest, and a hint of coldness in his eyes under the mask.
"Pavel Smith," Nightwing's voice was low and calm, "a special commissioner from the IRS. What a rare visitor."
Pavel smiled slightly, walked to the conference table, put his hands on the table, and looked at Nightwing with a knife-like gaze: "Nightwing, or, Richard Grayson. We finally meet."
Nightwing's brows slightly frowned, but he quickly regained his composure: "It seems that the IRS's intelligence network is wider than I thought. But, you brought so many people in, what do you want to do?"
"Requisition your office area," Pavel said bluntly, "GTO's financial problems have been listed as the highest priority by the IRS. We need a temporary headquarters, and this is just the right place."
Nightwing sneered, knowing that she had other intentions. He walked to the opposite side of Pavel, put his hands on the table, and looked at her: "You IRS really have a long reach. GTO's financial problems? Do you have any evidence?"
Pavel pulled out a document from the inner pocket of her windbreaker and threw it on the table. "This is a search warrant and a requisition order from the federal court. As for the evidence," she paused, a meaningful smile appeared on the corner of her mouth, "we will find it soon."
Nightwing glanced at the document, his expression under the mask unchanged, but his voice became colder: "You are abusing your power. Every flow of funds in GTO is transparent, and we have not violated any rules."
"Really?" Pavel raised his eyebrows. "Then why are there billions of dollars of funds in your accounts that are unaccounted for? Why is your 'charitable fund' actually a shell company? Nightwing, don't think you can hide the truth by wearing a cloak."
Nightwing's fist clenched slightly, but he quickly loosened it, his tone still calm: "If you have any questions, we can cooperate with the investigation. But you have no right to requisition our office area at will. This is the core of GTO, not your playground."
Pavel chuckled, straightened up, and looked around: "The core? In my opinion, this place is nothing more than a den of filth. Nightwing, you think you are upholding justice, but in fact, you are no different from those criminals. It's just that your methods are more covert and cunning."
Nightwing's eyes suddenly turned cold. He took a step forward and said in a low and dangerous voice: "You'd better be careful with your words, Pavel. No matter how powerful the IRS is, it cannot slander others at will."
Pavel did not back down and looked Nightwing in the eye. "Slander? No, this is the truth. What you GTO did has long attracted the attention of the IRS. Today is just the beginning."
The atmosphere between the two was tense, as if a conflict would break out in the next second. At this moment, the agents behind Pavel stepped forward, put their hands on the weapons at their waists, and stared at Nightwing vigilantly.
Nightwing glanced at the agents and sneered, "Why, you still want to take action?"
Pavel raised his hand to signal the agents to retreat, his tone still calm: "We are not here to fight, Nightwing. We are here to check the accounts. If you don't want to get into more trouble, you'd better cooperate with our work."
Nightwing was silent for a moment, and finally took a step back, spread his hands, with a hint of sarcasm in his tone: "Okay, Pavel. You can stay here. But I warn you, if you dare to cross the line, you will bear the consequences."
Pavel smiled slightly, turned around and walked to the main seat in the conference room. After sitting down, he flipped through the documents in his hand and said, "Don't worry, Nightwing. We at the IRS always abide by the law. However, if you have anything you want to explain, now is a good opportunity."
Nightwing didn't answer, but just looked at Pavel coldly, then turned and left the meeting room. The moment the door closed, Pavel's smile gradually disappeared, replaced by a look of deep thought. She whispered to the agent beside her, "Keep an eye on him. The huge amount of money in the GTO account disappeared in a very strange way. I didn't find any problems before I came here. He must have someone behind him to give him advice."
The agent nodded and quickly left the meeting room. Pavel continued to flip through the documents, his mouth slightly raised, as if he had seen the dawn of victory.
At the same time, Nightwing stood at the end of the corridor, looking out the window at the city outside. His fists were slightly clenched, and a hint of worry appeared in his eyes under the mask.
GTO Headquarters, IRS Temporary Special Investigations Team Office.
Pavel Smith dropped her black coffee on the metal table. The Latino senior specialist stared at the electronic clock on the wall - 09:37PM. The neon blue monitor screen cast a shadow on her hard face, and the light flowed on the lenses of her glasses.
Three unmarked Chevrolets pierced the silent night sky of East Island. Special Agent Fukas tightened the fiber seams of his bulletproof vest, and the beam of light from his tactical flashlight swept across the limited edition marble houseplate on the oak porch worth $8200: "J. Carter IV".
Pavel growled into the headset, "The evidence collection team, seal off the west study. That Titan X console contains backups of the transaction records of his three offshore shell companies!"
She paused suddenly, and Fokasi turned around with his nose just five centimeters away from the framed yacht club photo.
“Wait, in this photo of the 2005 St. Barts yacht charity dinner, isn’t the third person from the left a witness at last year’s Florida digital asset hearing?”
Pavel clicked on the computer in front of him a few times. A photo appeared in front of her. Her index finger accurately touched the expensive watch on the wrist of the man in the suit. The guest bracelet of the hearing could be vaguely seen in the reflection of the dial.
A trembling voice came from the cell: "You are stinging! My accountant said that those digital assets..."
Another leisurely voice suddenly sounded from above the cell: "Mr. Carter, of the $2001 million in business consulting fees you declared in 280, $147 million was paid to a shell company in the British Virgin Islands."
A plastic-wrapped document was thrown down from mid-air, and the white paper fell to the ground in a mess. "This is the transaction flow of the escrow account provided by Credit Suisse. Do you need me to read out the answer to the password hint question you set? 'Mother's maiden name + first love's license plate number' is not a qualified information security strategy."
Pavel turned his head sharply to look at the TV screen. The figure above the cell was vaguely visible, but mostly hidden in the darkness.
"Find out who he is," Pavel said. "And, as he asked, check Carter's Swiss bank account."
"Yes."
Evidence room.
Ultraviolet light shone across the pages of The Great Gatsby. Suddenly, the rubber-gloved hand paused, and a string of numbers emerged between the letters.
"The encryption key of the hard drive." The man with eagle eyes looked up and said.
The female team member next to him immediately picked up the intercom and said, "Look around in his study. The hard drive should be hidden there."
A woman wearing glasses next to her suddenly picked up a bookmark beside her - a yellowed 1998 Boston Red Sox ticket.
"It matches the time when the suspicious sports betting account was opened as noted by the headquarters' technical support system." The woman said, walking around the table. "It's a classic method, but it works very well."
She held the ticket between her index and middle fingers, shook it at Pavel who had just walked in and said, "Boss, we caught you."
The technician behind the glass suddenly looked up and shouted, "Boss, the on-chain tracking shows that this wallet address just transferred more than 600 million US dollars worth of digital assets to an online casino in Malta last week, and the Carter Group is applying for charitable tax-exempt status during the same period..."
"This guy is really multi-faceted." The woman with glasses pushed up her glasses and said, "Greed is his gallows."
Suddenly, Pavel's satellite phone vibrated, and the caller ID on the special encrypted frequency band made her jaw tighten suddenly.
An unfamiliar electronically processed voice sounded on the other end of the phone: "Commissioner Smith, do you remember the assets your father declared when he immigrated from Mexico City in 1989? Some of your family's tax flaws related to immigration...may need to be reviewed."
Pavel paused with his coffee cup in his hand. The coffee spilled out, staining the IRS badge on his chest. The Gotham skyline in the distance was pale, and in the reflection of the glass curtain wall, her irises showed a special gray tone between an agent and a prey.
"What's wrong, Boss?"
"Nothing, keep checking."
Pavel turned around. A young agent in uniform came in, knocked on the door and said, "Boss, we can't find anything."
"what?"
"The mysterious man who appeared upstairs in the cell block is called Schiller Rodriguez, but we can't find anything other than this name."